


It's a Marshmallow World

by marauders_groupie



Series: A Very Merry Bellarke Christmas! [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Coffee Shops, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas coffee shop Bellarke fluff as a part of Bellarke Secret Santa exchange!</p><p>*</p><p>The Dropship Café feels like a coffee shop should – cheerful, warm and homey and so she makes her way toward the counter, nearly stopping in her tracks as she spots the barista. He’s beautiful in a way that makes her want to get out a piece of paper and spend the whole evening sketching him. Messy curls brushing the dimples in his cheeks, constellations of freckles and when he smiles at her, the corners of his eyes crinkle.</p><p>“Hi, welcome to the Dropship, can I take your order?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Marshmallow World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZeGabz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeGabz/gifts).



> Ok, I know I'm posting this way too late after Christmas but I hope you all still have the need for some holiday cheer. Or, if not, it's a coffee shop AU, too. Let's roll with the fact that I'm late to the party, as always. 
> 
> Dear Gabby, happy holidays!
> 
> A huge thanks to [Nat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alltheworldsinmyhead) and [Jake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thejgatsbykid) who looked over this fic for me; thank you so much for your valuable advice and thank you so much for being such lovely people!
> 
> Without further ado, welcome to the Christmas coffee shop fluff extraordinaire. Enjoy!

It’s the first day of December and Clarke isn’t feeling the Christmas spirit at all.

Her day was a mess, her socks are wet from the sludge that seeped into her boots and if she hears another “Merry Christmas!” she’s going to deck someone with an appropriate amount of joy.

And just as someone dressed into a Santa suit stops to wish her happy holidays, she spots it - a coffee shop, conveniently placed right on the corner. All of its lights are pouring onto the pavement and to Clarke, who would do anything to get warmed up, it looks like heaven. 

She rushes across the street, her nose seconds away from falling off and her fingers chunks of ice but the moment she steps inside the Dropship Café it feels like she’s been wrapped into a big hug.

The place is brimming with people, students much like herself occupying the tables next to electrical outlets and other sorts – some of them are quiet, some are loud, but all the voices make for an excellent background noise.

The Dropship Café feels like a coffee shop should – cheerful, warm and homey and so she makes her way toward the counter, nearly stopping in her tracks as she spots the barista. He’s beautiful in a way that makes her want to get out a piece of paper and spend the whole evening sketching him. Messy curls brushing the dimples in his cheeks, constellations of freckles and when he smiles at her, the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Hi, welcome to the Dropship, can I take your order?”

Clarke snaps out of it, averting her gaze to the menu and settling on what she knows is probably going to kill her.

“Double espresso, please.”

“For the road or?”

“No,” she shudders at the mere thought of going outside again. “I’m definitely staying here.”

The barista smiles at her again, something in his smile that really fits the whole place. Clarke checks his nametag as he putters around the machines. Bellamy. It’s a nice name.

Her feet are still frozen and so she puts the thought aside, leaning on the counter as he finishes making her coffee. Their fingertips brush as he hands her a red mug with Santa hat symbols all over it, and Clarke’s eyes flicker towards him.

“Do you want sugar? Milk?”

“Nope.”

And because she’s a sensible adult, she drinks all of it in one go.

It’s only when the taste of bitter espresso hits her that she remembers how much she actually hates that particular type of coffee. She always was a two-sugars-and-milk kind of girl and she grimaces, frowning at what’s left of the liquid sloshing in the mug.

“Ugh,” she groans. “This is the _worst_.”

When she meets barista’s surprised and slightly hurt eyes, she realizes what she said and fumbles to apologize. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean that – you’re fine. You _are_ ,” she assures him when he still looks disappointed. “Really. I just hate espresso. I’m sure that there are people who like it and they’d be in awe of your skills but I really, really hate it.”

“Let’s pretend for a second I believe you,” he leans towards her conspiratorially. “Why drink it, then?”

“Finals?” she offers, knowing how weak that sounds but in her defense, it’s true. She’s got a bag full of textbooks she needs to go through in time for her test on Thursday and no espresso is as bitter as she is about that.

“That I understand,” he nods, turning his back on her again. Clarke is just about to leave (and drop a hefty tip because she did just insult his coffee-making skills) when he turns over his shoulder. “Wait here, I’ve got just what you need.”

The caramel latte he gets her tastes ambrosial and she stumbles over to a free table in a daze. The barista – Bellamy, she corrects herself – flashes her a thumbs up when she sneaks a glance towards him a while later and after that it gets really, really hard to focus on studying.

 

*

The next time she comes to the Dropship she’s dressed appropriately, meaning that she’s pulled up her scarf up to her nose, has two sweaters underneath the warmest coat she could find and is slightly boiling under a red pom-pom hat.

Bellamy grins at her when he spots her standing in front of the counter. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and she can’t handle a guy who is both hot and has unlimited access to coffee. 

“I didn’t know we were in another ice age.” He flicks the pom-pom on her hat. “It’s a good look on you.”

“Frozen and decaffeinated?”

“Let’s fix that one step at a time.” He raps his fingertips against the counter. “So, what’s it gonna be today? Double espresso or caramel latte?”

“Caramel latte with a shot of espresso?”

Bellamy smiles wryly. “Adventurous. I like that.”

“I keep saying I’m practically Indiana Jones,” she nods, flashing him a smile when he glances at her over his shoulder, as if making sure she’s still there. “Oh, and I’m not staying today.”

There’s a split second in which Clarke almost thinks that he’s sorry to hear that, but his smile is back as he asks, “Name?”

“Clarke. With an e.”

“Cool. Did you know it means _scholar_ in Latin?”

When she frowns at him he ducks his head, hand darting to rub at his neck. If she liked him grinning, she likes him even more when he looks a little embarrassed. “I’ve got a degree in history so, you know.”

And because Clarke’s idea of flirting is being sarcastic and slightly offensive, she asks, “So, basically, you cry about the fall of Roman Empire a lot?”

“You know your history majors,” he acknowledges with a nod.

“Nope, I can just know a nerd when I see one.”

He finishes scribbling on her cup and slides it across the counter. “Hope you have a nice, not frozen, day.”

Clarke doesn’t even notice what’s written on the cup until she’s nearly out of the Dropship and then she stops in her tracks.

There’s an improvised drawing of a snowflake, her name, written in Bellamy’s neat cursive (oddly enough, it fits with the whole image of him), and –

A pick up line.

Precisely, a horrible, corny pick up line that has her laughing out loud and returning to the counter where Bellamy is serving another customer.

“ _I must be a snowflake, because I've fallen for you?_ ” she reads out, smirking at Bellamy. “Seriously? Are you trying to tell me something?”

Clarke would think he’s trying to flirt with her but he just shrugs, flashing her a quick – _platonic_ -smile before returning to the machines. “’Tis the season to be jolly, right?”

Tis the season to be jolly and not flirtatious, Clarke realizes. Christmas-y pick up lines seem so Bellamy it hurts. 

 

*

 

The Dropship Café becomes Clarke’s safe haven in the days that follow. If she’s had a horrible day, it’s the first place where Raven’s able to find her and if she’s had a good one, she just really wants to celebrate with Bellamy’s caramel latte.

When Christmas starts closing in, the staff of the coffee shop start wearing Santa hats. Honestly, Bellamy would look like Christmas even without it – but there’s something about the way he crookedly smiles at her, the red hat on top of his unruly curls, and Clarke can’t stop herself from coming over.

Raven squints at her over the table cluttered with textbooks, empty coffee cups and their respective laptops.

“Which one?”

“What?”

“Which one do you have a crush on?” Raven repeats, looking towards the counter where Bellamy and Octavia, his younger sister, putter around the machines. “The hot guy or the hot girl? Because I feel like bisexuality is really working out for you right now.”

“God said Adam and Eve so I did both,” Clarke grins before flipping a page over, trying to focus. Raven prods her with a pen, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I know you didn’t do any one of them because you’d be blushing right now. And since you’re not, it’s obviously serious.”

Clarke sighs, deciding that she’s definitely not getting any work done tonight. She comes to the Dropship because she wants to study but somehow that never works out for her.

“The guy. He’s cute. Everyone has a crush on coffee-enablers.”

There’s something in Raven’s smug smile that makes Clarke feel like she said the wrong thing. It isn’t until the brunette turns around Clarke’s vanilla late cup that she actually realizes why.

“Oh, so I’m guessing that’s why there’s this horrible pick up line?”

There _is_ a pick up line written in Bellamy’s neat cursive, but Clarke waves it off. He does it all the time, probably to attract customers or something. At least that’s what Clarke gathered from Bellamy shrugging it off the first time it happened.

And since there was never actually any real flirting to go along with it, Clarke now just chuckles at “ _Do you celebrate Boxing Day? Because you’re the whole package.”_ while Raven stares at her like she’s lost it.

“They do it all the time, Rae. It’s not a big deal.”

Raven leans forward, her hands pressed to the tabletop and stares at Clarke, eyes crazed. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Clarke wouldn’t say there’s anything wrong with her, not really. She likes the Dropship, the whole atmosphere of the place. Bellamy is attractive, she’ll give him that, but she’s not about to smother him with unwanted attention just because he’s trying to make people laugh with his pick up lines. So she keeps coming over for the great coffee and if Bellamy joins her at her table when he’s on a break – well, that’s just very nice of him.

Plus, the staff is weirdly amazing. And amazingly weird. Octavia, Bellamy’s younger sister and co-owner of the Dropship, works the counter but also has a long-standing flirtation thing with Lincoln, the pastry chef. Clarke likes to watch them sometimes like you’d watch a documentary on Animal Planet. The lioness preys on the clueless lion – a lot of shameless flirting on Octavia’s side and a lot of blushing on Lincoln’s. It’s fun.

Or Clarke has a caffeine problem that’s affecting her judgment, but it’s not likely.

Miller is the third barista and Clarke is pretty sure that he doesn’t have a first name.

(“It’s Miller.”

“Anything else?”

“Just Miller.”)

He mostly just scowls, a stoic type of character – unless Monty (one of the regulars) is concerned. Clarke still has flashbacks to the Great Coffee Incident of December 10th when Monty told Miller that he likes his shirt and the latter proceeded to fluster, bumble and spill a whole pot of coffee over himself, probably in attempt to flirt back.

Bellamy, for his part, likes to go on endless tirades about history, cries about the Library of Alexandria (“Do not mention Alexandria under any circumstance,” Octavia had warned Clarke. “Why?” “Because he’s going to cry, Clarke. He is and it will be painful.” It was mostly just embarrassing for Bellamy.) and likes to count the whole month of December as Christmas.

“Happy 19th of Christmas!” he announces when Clarke stalks in one evening. She’s got a laptop under her arm, two bags – art supplies and textbooks – slung over her shoulder and she doesn’t mind winter, she just hates that it’s so cold.

“Christmas is on the 25th,” she groans, flopping down at the first free table. Her fingers are cold and she winds them into her scarf, the one good thing she has working for her.

Bellamy frowns at her. “Why do you hate Christmas?”

“I don’t – “Clarke lets out an exasperated sigh, throwing her head back and staring at the ceiling, makeshift snowflakes hanging from it. The Dropship crew really knows how to get into holiday cheer. “Can you get me hot chocolate, please?”

“Sure. I’ll add in extra marshmallows, free of charge.”

“No – don’t. I don’t like marshmallows.”

She could’ve said she hated puppies for how Bellamy whirls around to face her, bewildered as he leans over the counter. It takes her a second of him gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing, to actually ask him what’s wrong.

He might also be very cute and that might be the reason why she doesn’t react sooner. Guys in Santa hats are really doing it for her.

“You don’t like marshmallows in your hot chocolate?” he asks, shocked. Clarke would think he’s just dramatic but he looks actually, properly baffled. “Why do you hate love?”

“It’s just marshmallows, Bellamy.”

“You don’t deserve hot chocolate.” He pauses dramatically. “But I’ll give that to you anyways.”

Clarke narrows her eyes at him. “Because you’re the bigger person?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But also because you’re paying me.”

She actually manages to study for a while – not long, maybe an hour or so – before Bellamy goes on a break and it’s not even a question whether she’ll invite him to join her anymore.

Maybe she’d be worried that he’s doing it out of politeness but she’s pretty sure that you don’t really bring complimentary refills to people who you don’t at least consider friends.

“So, any plans for Christmas?” he asks her, untying the apron and leaning on the table colonized by Clarke’s textbooks and notebooks. It’s a mess. Well, her whole life is, so it’s no wonder her table is too.

“Nope.”

“You’re going home?”

No, she’s really not. It feels pointless to go - she and her mom are never going to get along for the holidays without her dad mediating.

“Nope.”

Bellamy frowns and Clarke shifts her weight uneasily. It’s his intense stare, as if he’d only been barely looking at her before – now all of his focus is on her.

She has known him for a couple of weeks now but it’s pretty clear that he’s a mother hen. Octavia groans whenever he tells her to bring a hat if she’s going outside and Miller threatens to quit whenever Bellamy lectures him on healthy eating habits.

But when it comes to people spending holidays on their own – that’s when Bellamy is at his worst.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Watch TV, eat takeout turkey, the usual.”

Bellamy gasps, his eyes widening almost comically and Clarke isn’t sure that he’s not going to faint.

“No, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not eating cold turkey,” he announces, making a face full of disgust. “That’s horrible. That’s almost as bad as not having a Christmas tree.”

Clarke keeps quiet and Bellamy’s eyes widen. “You don’t have a Christmas tree.”

“Sure I do.”

She digs through her bag, unearthing her keychain and presenting it to him with a grin on her face. The tree is about three inches in diameter and Bellamy looks as if he’s about to cry.

“We’re having a dinner at Octavia’s and you’re coming.”

“Bellamy –“

He silences her protests, raising his hand and shaking his head. “I won’t take no for an answer. It’ll be fun, we’ll watch Monty and Miller flirt and get drunk on Lincoln’s eggnog.”

There’s no point in trying to reason with him and if she’s being honest, Clarke wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending Christmas on her own. In a tree-less apartment. So she just lets out a long-suffering sigh, much to Bellamy’s amusement and asks through palms pressed to her face,

“What should I bring?”

“Your lovely self,” he grins. “And an ugly Christmas sweater. Please tell me you have those.”

“Yes,” she replies, almost proud of herself for keeping Wells’ Christmas 2010 present. Bellamy pretends to look relieved and Clarke allows herself to let go, relax just a bit. Christmas is drawing near, the whole city is decked in lights and yeah, maybe not everything is so terrible.

They spend the rest of his break talking about nothing in particular and it’s only when Clarke is about to leave that Bellamy asks her, almost shyly, “Why aren’t you going home for the holidays?”

“Aren’t you supposed to spill your life story to the bartender and not the barista?” she counters with a wry smile.

“Bartender, barista,” Bellamy shrugs. “What’s the difference? They get drunk people, I get sleep-deprived.”

Clarke’s teeth sink into her lower lip because they haven’t been friends for long (she’s not actively trying to deny that anymore) and she’s not sure whether it’s alright to spill her story so soon.

In the end, he manages to convince her with a hot chocolate (“No marshmallows,” he sneered. “Philistine.”) and she drops her bag on the counter. The coffee shop is almost empty, save for a couple at the table in the back, and it’s almost unsettling how comfortable Clarke feels.

“I had a fight with my mom. My dad died a couple of years ago and I’m not ready to spend the holidays with her and her boyfriend. It just feels- weird.”

She takes a sip of her hot chocolate, Bellamy waiting patiently for the rest of the story on the other side of the counter.

“She said some things I can’t just ignore and it’d be a shitty Christmas anyways, without my dad.”

“What was his name?” Bellamy asks and his interest is so _honest_ it stuns Clarke a little.

“Jake. We used to go Christmas tree shopping and I’d always want the worst-looking tree. Like,” she smiles while remembering how it used to be, “naked branches, barely enough room to hang decorations on. But I used to go on about those trees needing love too and in the end, my dad had to agree.”

Bellamy is smiling at her and he’s written another pick up line on the cup (“ _How much do all of Santa's reindeer weigh? Enough to break the ice_.”) and maybe it’s stupid but she’d really like to kiss him underneath the Christmas lights over the counter, knock that Santa hat askew and see if he tastes like hot chocolate _and_ marshmallows.

But she doesn’t. Instead, he asks her a question, she asks him another and so it goes until it’s way past midnight and Clarke knows a lot more about Bellamy than she did a couple of hours ago.

“We always have these dinners on Christmas,” he tells her as he’s wiping down the counter and she feels as if she’s glued to her seat. “Mostly because there’s always someone who doesn’t have any company. And it’s just me and O, from my family, so why not invite more?”

“That’s really kind of you.”

“Yeah, well,” he grins again, although Clarke isn’t fooled – his cheeks are burning up. Compliments make him blush, even if he tries to pretend like it’s no big deal. It’s actually oddly endearing. “No one should be alone on Christmas.”

Clarke doesn’t even try to deny her crush after that.

*

A couple of days before Christmas Bellamy isn’t on his regular shift. Instead, there’s Octavia, wiping down the counter and making eyes at Lincoln.

Clarke tries not to fuss, even though she really wants to ask Octavia what happened with Bellamy. Even Octavia knows it, if her knowing smile is anything to go by.

Octavia’s caramel latte is almost as good as Bellamy’s but Clarke pouts when there’s no pick up line on the cup. So she turns to Octavia, asking,

“What, no fun fact or a pick up line?”

Octavia frowns at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Bellamy always leaves them so I figured it was something you usually did. Like, for Christmas.”

There is a second in which Octavia just blinks at her, her hands frozen mid-movement where they were working on Monty’s chai and then erupts into loud laughter, nearly falling forward from the sheer force of the peals.

It takes her a while to stop laughing but her voice is full of mirth when she wipes the tears from her eyes and informs Clarke,

“No, we definitely don’t do that for everyone.”

“Oh. So-“Clarke trails off, worrying her lower lip as she stares at the cardboard coffee cup.

Octavia pointedly clears her throat. “So.”

 _So_.

 

Clarke still has no idea what she’s going to do when she arrives to the Dropship Café on Christmas afternoon. The coffee shop is officially closed but that doesn’t mean Bellamy didn’t agree to wait for her there (“No one should face Octavia’s Christmas cheer alone for the first time.”). She’s wearing the world’s ugliest Christmas sweater, reindeer and a creepy-looking snowman on it, and her hands are frozen solid because she had to take off her gloves to carry a platter of cookies.

Mostly she’s just glad to be somewhere warm.

And there’s the matter of Bellamy who still hasn’t noticed her, despite the bell above the door chiming. No, he’s dancing behind the counter, singing “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” off-key and it’d be ridiculous if it wasn’t cute.

She taps him on the shoulder and nearly laughs when he flinches, eyes widening in surprise. Then he seems to realize who the person bundled in a scarf pulled up to her nose and hat pulled down to her eyebrows is and his face lights up.

“Merry Christmas, Clarke!” His eyes flicker towards the ceiling and then he freezes. Clarke looks up instantly, butterflies appearing out of nowhere in her stomach when she notices someone hung mistletoe above the counter.

“Octavia,” Bellamy groans. “I’m sorry, Clarke.”

“No, it’s fine,” she rushes to say, nearly feeling ridiculous for it. “It’s tradition, right?”

The blush on Bellamy’s cheeks spreads down his neck and he ducks his head, unruly curls bouncing wildly as he smiles almost imperceptibly.

By all means, it doesn’t make sense. The pick up lines were a dead giveaway once Octavia mentioned them but Clarke’s pretty sure it was as clear as day that she likes Bellamy. He could’ve just asked her out.

And now this.

Clarke is a lot of things but she’s not someone who’d pass up on kissing Bellamy Blake. No, she’s definitely doing _that_.

So, as he flusters and bumbles, trying to lean over the counter but also be respectful of her space at the same time, she sets down the platter and grabs the ends of his scarf, pulling him in. Bellamy might be confused but there’s a mistletoe above them and she’s been dying to find out what kissing him would feel like.

In the end, he doesn’t taste like chocolate and marshmallows. Just chocolate and coffee, his breath warm in her mouth and his hands solid as he pulls her in as close as possible with the counter between them.

They part after she knocks her hip into the counter and yelps, but she can’t do anything except laugh when she sees how dazed he looks.

It really is too endearing and the sight of him, lips red and eyes glassed-over because of _her_ , makes the butterflies stir once again.

“So, about the pick-up lines,” she prompts, much to his embarrassment. He’s about to come up with an apology or something, averting his gaze, but she beats him to it. “I’ve got one for you. Can you hold my gloves for a second? I usually warm them by the fireplace, but you are way hotter.”

A huge grin splits Bellamy’s face, dimples putting creases into his cheeks and he pulls her in again, placing a kiss on top of her hair. “You’re amazing.”

“What’s amazing is that you’ve never said anything. I though you did the lines for everyone. I asked _Octavia_ about it!”

“Oh, God,” Bellamy gasps. “In my defense, I thought you were just trying to spare me the embarrassment of a flat out rejection. And they were funny so I figured they at least made you laugh.”

“Would’ve been way cooler if I could’ve done this earlier,” Clarke murmurs into his coat. His chest rumbles with his laughter and she thinks that this is a very, very good Christmas.

After they survive the hurricane that is Octavia throwing garlands at them (“Deck the halls! Deck yourselves!”) and manage to have a relatively peaceful dinner, they settle back on the couch in the Blakes’ living room. Stuffed and hazy, with Bellamy’s arms wrapped around her sides and Monty snoring lightly, Clarke realizes that this Christmas isn’t just good.

No, it is the _best_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's that! I hope all you liked it and I know I'm late with posting this but hey, better late then never.
> 
> If you liked it, please take a moment to leave kudos or comments because I will be happy like a little piggy that's had its stomach scratched. I might even squeal.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> p.s. i'm also on [tumblr](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com).


End file.
